Long Scentless Poems
Long Scentless Poems. Below are the most popular long Scentless by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scentless poems by poem length and keyword.
A seed carried by the wind, because it is spring,
thrusts out her tiny face from the soil where
she has landed in one moonless chilling night.
Her cherished desire had been buried
under the frozen hard wintry earth.
Now, surrounded by the clear and bright dewdrops
in the touch of gentle sunlight, as a red gorgeous flower
faced to the sky, it is in beautiful bloom on the tip of slender stem.
When the time of extravagance for the flower passes,
it fades away as a scentless corolla, and when time
buries the colorless petals in the forgotten star
on the other side of the moon, the flower returns
to the shaded corner where the wind stands still.
The face of earth is, before knowingly,
filled with glares of the scorching sun.
The flower, must, therefore, live through the days
under the burning sun as a leaf with never quenching thirst,
after climbing so many high and steep peaks,
after crossing over the lots of difficult ranges,
reddened in the glow of the setting sun,
becoming the piece of fallen withered leaf,
that rolls on the shriveling plains as a lonely wanderer.
That only sun, only moon, only star each one quests for
That beacon that burns on eternally in each one's core
Isn't it love—that's kind, warm, gentle, selfless, and endless?
Isn't life without it, like a fine flower that's scentless?
Going beyond mundane attraction and affection heights
It's love that rises from a heart that kindles lacs of lights.
Delight of devotion, desire, and dream for the divine
It shines, like lamps of Deepawali, within each one's shrine.
Through, with, and in its light, each one single-mindedly walks
Each one breaks all blocks that hurdle the trails like boulder rocks.
Doesn't one face the futile amusement of absurd death?
Breath merged with the divine breeze—doesn't one attain rebirth?
In the whirlwind of the wind, my soul also spins unyieldingly,
On watercolor wings, the seasons carry me aloft,
Through wrinkled fantasies, the heart's mistakes shatter,
Waltzing in the whispers of waves, my soul cradles gently.
Under the watchful rain of stars, my dreams drip slowly,
The talisman stained with tulips hides unspoken truths,
Stepping lightly over the threshold of dusk, time is my friend,
I am the sunset, and the silence of saffron storms follows me.
O, you, ruler of minds playing on the edge of dreams,
The empyrean inferno burns around your diamonds,
We feel deep in our bones miracles without mirrors,
Ugly hyacinths melt under the melodious mint of magnolia.
We are but moments dissolved in the silent meditation of evening,
The thread of turmeric love binds us to lemony light,
The neon Nile flows through our intuitive isles, dancing,
Under the moonlight, separated from the watching darkness.
The dazzling luxury calls us to place our trust in it,
Bleeding into the constellations of our higher virtues,
The heavens wonder about the sirens singing forgiveness imperfectly,
The fragrance of forgiveness carries the sailors of nirvana to dawn.
This hummingbird has hushed its beats under the eternal sky,
I am a dialect of dawn, in the scentless sunrise of life,
A patriot of peace, pirouetting in the ephemeral elixirs of time,
Burning auroras pour over the lips of loving angels.
If sky is a sea of
fallen flowers
and dusty diamonds
glazed in red,
I’ll unfurl the
saffron sun within,
stretching sandalwood
arms of serenity,
upon gardens of
glistening grief,
with healing herbs
and soothing spices,
from greener grass
of life amidst sorrow.
For I can
move mountains
and secure trees,
to a therapeutic realm
where perfumed
petals never wilt.
While kindness I sow
shall sprout in hues
of warm honey and
raspberry dreams.
I am an
unshakable rose,
blooming from
roots of ruins,
facing fiery fangs of
the phasing tulip moon
above wildfires
of whirling woes.
This musky
spirit is timeless,
resembling the
flaming heart of
an untamable phoenix.
My silence soars
beyond mourning wolves;
ice blue eyes
of fleeting seasons.
And you, twin-star~
my sister I cannot
breathe without,
will forever be the reason,
I’ll wear this amethyst
sequined armor,
to sail through
ripples of rage,
like a floating candle
amidst eclipsed tides,
that shifts and sparkles,
while flickering eucalyptus elixir~
upon scentless tea lights.
So if tomorrow, clouds
above your
sleepless sanctuary
swing with poisoned rain,
to drizzle splinters upon
your bed of melancholy,
remember, I’ll find my way
to your unrhymed spheres,
steal perfectly metered
syllables of hope,
from the elysian above,
that sprinkles
champagne lunar-beams,
and I’ll weave
a curative poem
beneath the ink-less
canvas of acrylic dirt,
to calm your
midnight musings with
mellifluous metaphors.
In a world where shadows stretch across asphalt streets,
the modern man searches for his soul among dazzling advertisements,
alienated, stripped of ancestral creativity,
transformed from a creator into a silent consumer,
his smile, a mask on a billboard,
bearing the pride of a scentless existence,
in a world where presence becomes absence,
and essence is lost among useless objects,
our souls are just echoes in empty boxes,
and in every perfect smile hides a silence,
a silent cry for meaning, for a rebirth,
but we are trapped in mazes of shiny packaging,
where time is measured in products and not in moments,
and we, prisoners of a prefabricated dream,
lose ourselves in reflections of a distorted reality,
seeking to find, in this deafening silence,
the answer to the question we've forgotten to ask,
in a universe where authenticity is a luxury,
and truth, just a distant dream we chase,
while we dance on the edge of a collective oblivion.
A canvas on beach
Beyond fortune's reach
Where ocean's opulence beseiges
The sand
That remains arid
Beneath my hand
I scribbled falsehoods
In sand of seashore
Washed away the waves
But I re-bore
The facade of sandalwood
With scentless core
I became the artist living in dreams
Suppressing the internal surreal screams
Praising the sun's loveless heat
Scorched scars linger but my fabrication's neat
Dusk broke, I anticipated gentle breeze
But the sun abandons me to freeze
I pushed away the ship meant for rescues
Succumbed to the charade upon demonic cues
A captive now of hollow laughters
The island stands on fragile rafters
Isle's canvas was built to swallow
A soul lost in its own hollow
" Tortured metaphors
spilling from tequila lips,
t i p t o e on my pulse ~
breaking in an arced smile
of the featherless eclipse,
where I waltz as a secluded steel-shine,
sobered s o f t l y
by the taste of satanic stars..."
I'm the loss of a leaf
from gold-dew aspens,
rippling upon
turquoise typewriters,
where drunk fingertips dance.
Turning to ashes,
my heart m e l t s
as a metallic grenade,
and no philosopher's stone
ever reverberating
in its silver-winged silence.
Seeking shelter from smoldering seas,
I curl up in the womb of a guardian willow ~
she's a weeping angel of n e v e r l a n d,
with an ornamented garland
of guns and roses,
enveloping me in the corpse of sunset.
Plunging from diamond cobwebs
into isles of champagne,
like a dynamite dove bloodthirsty for sun,
I l u r k along reefs
studded with rhinestones, unfurling –
lotus manuscripts
as poetic pearls s l i p and t w i r l,
snorkeling in an obsidian oasis.
I miss being
a purple-whisper prophecy,
threaded in fractured letters,
for now, my ink b l e e d s
in the marrow of moon,
where an alchemy is lost and found...
In the chronicles of carnelian clemency
and supernova sorcery,
I've seen arctic assonances
hibernating
in the throats of those,
holding lethal jewels
as a nightingale's neon noose.
So, if my soul is an opal widow
of your thistle-light affection,
a verse romanticised
will be my crystal coffin,
and in the caricatures
of kohl and karma,
our silent soliloquy
shall delicately be shifted.
Surfing in the splitting s i n s
of a salty saviour,
this whiskey damsel
shall evermore remain
a scentless phrase,
scrapped by pencilled brush-strokes,
i n v i s i b l e
in our paper-cut destiny...
i g n o r a n c e~
is a rhyme without soul
an art of f a d i n g into oblivion...
like crestfallen tulips
twirling through tethered rays
in the midst of seething sighs...
and I am more than the
blazing thorn
of a phoenix rose moon,
infused in scarlet elixirs
of a sorcerous twilight,
weaving l o v e
in golden glows
amidst double-flamed scales
burning my velvety h e a r t...
pondering, would you
be the galactic gardener
that waters
my weathered spirit
when I am but
a mere memento~
tangled in
vindictive vines of vanity,
for I have a voice
I sing in garnet grace...
if tomorrow
you feel my heartbeat
between vintage verses
of a scentless sonnet
long forgotten, and e r a s e d
remember,
I am the silk and sage
and the untamable
silhouette
of a balmy blossom
that refuses to breathe
in the ossuary
of perished petals,
and wrinkled dreams,
ostracized by
chauvinistic thistles
and unpolished ink
pricking the soft stems
facing cyclones of greed
c i r c l i n g
in sheer arrogance....
tonight I trace the hyacinth heat
of unwavering zest,
drawing sanguine
smoke of love
with winged gossamer
tied to the redolent roots
of unblemished skylines
while crocheting
petrichor promises
unto the backbone of
a nocturnal garden,
where handmade
wreaths of hope and faith
feel softer than lunar light~
as this heart resembles
a maternal bouquet
of burgundy b l i s s ...
a woman who heeds not
misogynistic mantras ...
The moss clung tightly; making it unbearable to breathe,
and she sealed her lips tighter than a clam’s— not letting the pain take over
As the stars drift silently, like ships on a lost sea of darkness,
she whispers to Hope:
“Swim free and look for the horizon, then come back to me...”
The night; collected on the leaves,
drops fell like Mermaid’s milk onto an already moist floor
Striking the shimmering tearful medium,
it gives birth to a shower of graceful pearls as the dawn awaits
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I hear your voice drift upon a cool ocean breeze;
gilded words of adoration
I glide towards it, praying that it guides me,
strengthens me,
nurtures me
like Mermaid’s milk
Touch as I might, my senses are in-different to please, my voice mute!
Be my Siren’s song and sing for me, serenade my senses back to life...
With an inquisitive tongue, I taste an almost scentless flower
It is but a wisp, a whisper, a flick of a ray of sunshine, but it was There.
So much is lost.
The rivulets of time, hear me, see me, like a ghostly apparition...
Capture me in that moment by lovingly painting me.
Sing me a song while you do,
and let the Mermaid’s milk flow again.
*****
Thank you David, for waiting ever so patiently for my long overdue part--
it was a very nice challenge for me to write this :)
Thank you very much for the inspiring lines...
this quietness i have presently
it's not a form of deafness
an absence of sound all around
everything quiet not a sound
silence a hum no beat of a drum
no bumps or squeaks no vibrations
stillness unmoved music ungrooved
this nothingness created by sound
it's lights darkness and scentless air
it's reaching to feel yet nothing is there
a tasteless void that leaves me annoid
an empty barren collection of sences
living alone i don't hear a phone
or answer friendly letters
nobody calls or cares if i fall
and find that my heart has been shattered
this numbing void was hard to avoid
it came little by little each day
what ever happened i don't know
just one by one noises went away
i long to hear the screams of children
i moved so far away from
i miss the shouting of restless teens
that misguided generation
i wish for once i'd married
when i had the chance
my long long search for peace and quiet
has come to a terrible end
if i could do it all again
and have just one more chance
id cherish all the noises
and would have kept one good friend